The Lost Prince
by aaltje-in-wonderland
Summary: Micky had so much promise, but it was all gone after one terrible night. But maybe everything will change after he meets this gorgeous stranger. [Sorry, I'm really bad at writing these] Based on the TV characters but with similar back stories to the real guys. Rated T for drug use and sexual situations.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **I haven't written a fanfic since I was in middle school so critiques are very welcome! I will, hopefully, update at least once a month.

* * *

The best thing about It is, It made him forget, at least for the moments. Those were always the best moments of his life, the times where he could forget.

Micky figured he should probably stop, at least that's what They always told him (They, what do They know?), but how could he stop when it gave him such serenity?

It also helped him get though certain jobs he may not be able to stand otherwise. Like, yesterday, for instance; his regular was more grotesque than usual and, without It, he would bot have been able to perform––no performance meant no money, no money meant he couldn't get more of It, and not having It would mean a flood of memories he would rather not deal with.

He doesn't remember when he started It. Ten years ago? That can't be right. Five years ago? Probably. Fourteen sounds like a probably age...maybe he was thirteen? Sometime around then. All he know is he's been much happier since he started It––happi_er_ being the operative word, emphasis on the '––er.' He's never been happy.

"Hey, Mick." He was pulled from his thought upon hearing _The Boss_ call his name. "I got a job for you."

"It's Tuesday," Micky responded.

"I don't give a fuck if it's Tuesday!"

"I have Tuesdays off."

"Whore's don't get days off. Now get off your fucking ass and make yourself look pretty."

"I always look pretty, Boss."

"Don't fucking sass me, Boy. It's a new guy, says he wants a 'girly' one."

"Why would someone hire a male prostitute if he wants one that looks like a girl? Why not just hire a chick?"

"Hell if I know? But hurry the fuck up, will you? Don't want to keep the gentleman waiting."

"Wouldn't Davy be better for this one? He's smaller, more feminine."

"Davy has the day off." The Boss chucked as he went through the doorway, dodging a half empty bottle of lubricant thrown by Micky.

Micky ran his fingers through his unkempt hair and smiled at the mirror and decided that was good enough––if he doesn't like him, Mick will direct him to a nice brothels filled with actual women. Micky double checked he had enough of It to last the entire session and made his way to the man's room.

When he got there was surprised by what he found. The man in there was young, probably just a few years older than Micky's tender age of nineteen. He was tall and thing, his height making him appear to be even thinner, with long sinewy legs in a blue suit and tie with black cowboy boots. He had a mop of black hair on his head partly covered by a dingy, green wool hat. His face was hard yet soft at the same time: dark, piercing eyes contrasting his soft, kissable lips. Micky thought he was beautiful; he wouldn't need It to forget this one––he wouldn't want to forget.

"Hi, my name's Micky."

The man jumped at the sound of a voice and his eyes widened in fear and slight embarrassment, "Ya––ya––we tell each other our names?" The man stammered out and Micky almost fainted––he had a Texan accent! Micky had had a thing for Texan accents ever since he saw Buddy Holly perform at the Apollo when he was a kid.

"You don't have to tell me your name, I've just found telling people my name relaxes them."

"Ya've done this before?!" Micky laughed.

"Well, yeah. You didn't think they'd send you a virgin who didn't know what the hell he was doing, did you? Besides, virgins cost extra."

"Oh, w––well, yeah, y––ya got a point ther. How long have ya been doin' this?"

"Huh, I don't know. I guess that depends on if you want to know how long I've been having sex or long I've been getting paid for it."

"How––how long have you been getting paid for it?"

Micky stopped to think and did his best to add up years, "well, I think since I was about 11 or 12, somewhere around there."

"El––eleven!" The man's face had made a most awkward expression of shock and sorrow. "Then when did ya start havin' sex?!"

"Before then," Micky replied nonchalantly. "So, how do you want to do this?"

"Um, whaddya mean?"

"Well, do you want to bottom or top?"

"What does that mean?"

"Do want to ride or be ridden?" Micky noticed the hesitance and obvious nervousness so he added, "or we don't have to go that far. We can take it as far as you want it to go."

"Really?" The man relaxed a bit.

"Of course, you're the one paying." Micky immediately regretted saying that as he saw the man clam back up. "I just mean, it's your hour, we can do whatever you want to do."

"Uh, I, uh, is it okay if we, uh, just...cuddle?"

Seeing how nervous this man was asking for a cuddle made Micky smile––he had gotten a lot of crazy requests before, mostly from old, usually married men and mostly things he would rather not remember, but never a grown man just wanting a cuddle. Micky was glad _The Boss_ didn't ask Davy to do this one, Micky just may be in love.

"Of course we can just cuddle."

* * *

"Hey, Micky, how was the job?" Davy greeted him as he walked into their apartment––Davy was from Manchester; he had come to the States to pursue his acting career which, obviously, based on the job he has now, did not go over so well. He was doing well on the West End and even did a show Broadway, he was doing so he well he decided to come to Hollywood and try and make it on the silver screen. Like most aspiring actors, however, he didn't make on the silver screen and not too long later he was left starving and homeless on the streets of LA. That is where Micky found him. He cleaned him up, bought him lunch and taught him a trade that, though he wouldn't be very proud of it, would at least pay the bills.

"The worst." Micky replied. "well, not the worst, he at least didn't make me wear an animal mask like that one guy does. But I have to tell you about this _The Boss_ gave me, yesterday."

"What about him? Did he have creepy requests?"

"He had the weirdest request I ever heard!"

"Really? Weirder than animal mask guy?"

"He asked me to cuddle."

"Like, cuddle while wearing a masking of something not human?"

"No, just cuddle. No funny business, he didn't fake accidentally touching my junk, nothing that most cuddlers inevitably do. He just wanted to cuddle."

"Weird! So, then, what's wrong with him?"

"Nothing that I noticed, I think he's just lonely."

"That's so weird! Who held whom?"

"I held him. I could tell wasn't comfortable though, not holding the reins, but every time I asked him if he wanted to switch he said he was good."

"Must have lost someone. Wife maybe?"

"I'm not sure, he's not very old."

"Really, I was picturing some elderly man in his thirties or fourties or someone like that. How old do you think he is?"

"He can't be older than 25."

"Is he ugly?"

"No, he's beautiful."

* * *

A few weeks had passed with Micky seeing The Texan on a semi-regular basis, always around the same time. He was thinking about the beautiful face that belonged to this gorgeous man when the phone rang. He knew better than to answer it but he knew better than to a lot of things he did; he picked up the receiver and as he suspected it was The Boss on the other end.

Micky trudged to the house, trying not to rise suspicion as he dodged streetlights and lost tourists. He was not looking forward to this job; the last minute midnight callers were always the worst. They had the weirdest requests––not like his usuals, these midnight callers would have him do things he didn't even feel comfortable telling Davy about. But when he walked into the room, he was delightfully surprised to see the beautiful Texan sitting awkwardly on the bed.

The Texan's face lit up when he saw Micky, "I was hopin' it'd be you."

"Really? Then what would have done if it wasn't me?"

Based upon the look on his face, the Texan hadn't thought about that possibility, "Um, well, I––I don't know."

Micky laughed as he crawled into the bed and lied down. He beckoned for the Texan to lie down next him, "It doesn't matter, I'm here."

Micky was so content lying comfortably with The Texan––Micky's shirt untucked and halfway unbuttoned, The Texan's tie loosened and jacket forgotten. The Texan had his head on Micky's chest while Micky twirled the hair that was peeking out from underneath his wool hat. The relaxed man in Micky's arms had been asking questions all night, but he had been silent for awhile and Mick was sure he had fallen into a reposeful sleep.

The Texan stirred from underneath Micky's hand, he was wrong.

"I was wonderin'..." The Texan started.

"Yeah?"

"Ya see a lot of...men?"

"A few, yeah," Micky answered, still playing with The Texan's hair.

"How––how do you...um..."

"Service so many?" Micky finished for him.

"Well, yeah. But, not yer stamina. How do you-uh...tolerate them all?"

Micky laughed, "I get really high." He responded in earnest. The Texan laughed with him thinking it a joke, Micky let him believe what he wanted. "So, then, Mr. Catechize-Man, since you're asking so many questions, do you mind if I ask you one?"

"I guess not."

"What's your name?" There was a long silence while Micky waited for his answer. Suddenly, he heard light snoring coming from the man lying on his chest. _Little punk._ Micky thought to himself before he let himself fall asleep with him.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning light shone through the window into the cheerless room where the two young men had spent the night. Mike nudged awake Micky who opened his eyes with a smile when he saw the face of his favorite john looking down at him, already fully dressed.

"I want ya to come do somethin' with me," Mike said.

"When?" Micky asked groggily as he looked at his watch.

"Now," Mike replied while Micky drudgingly sat up on the bed and putt on his shoes.

"Ok," Micky replied, "I have some time before my next appointment."

"Great!" Mike grabbed Micky's elbow as they flew out the door.

* * *

After two busses and walking three city blocks they ended up at the visitor's entrance of St. Vincent's County Hospital.

"A hospital?" Micky asked, "What are we doing here?"

"There's a man up there––a boy––lying in a coma because of me. That boy might die and it's my fault. There's nothing I can do. This can't be fixed. No amount of money will fix this. He's dying and that's it."

Micky placed his hand on Mike's shoulder in a comforting manner. "Do you want me to go in with you?"

"Hm? Go in where?" Mike asked nonchalantly.

"Into the hospital, to see the kid."

"What?" I'm not going in. Looking into the face of tha man I practically killed? I don't think so! What gave you such an idea?"

Micky removed his hand from Mike's shoulder, more out of shock and confusion than anything else, "Then why are we here?"

"I just wanted to show you. I am a terrible, terrible man. I wanted you to know that," Mike said in desperation while adding, under his breath, "I have no idea why."

"You want to go eat something?" Micky asked in hopes of regaining The Texans trust he was sure he just lost, "there's a fast-food joint near here. Good, cheap food."

"Sounds good."

* * *

Micky ordered for them two four-by-fours, three double-doubles an order of fries and two chocolate milk shakes.

"What on Earth is a 'four-by-four?'" Mike asked as they walked to a booth.

"A hamburger with four patties and four slices of cheese."

"Ok, and what is a 'double-double?'"

"Two patties and two slices of cheese. This booth look good?"

"That makes sense. Yeah, this booth seems fine. And what was that thing you said about animals?"

"'Animal Style,' they add grilled onions and secret sauce, only way to properly eat 'em."

"Not one of those things is on the menu."

"No, In-N-Out has a secret menu. Only for people who know how to order."

"So, this place has a whole menu full of items that you only get to try if you happen to know about it?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I don't know, to keep people coming back I guess. Like, if you went to a concert, and it was great. Pretty generic line-up, though, lead, rhythm, bass and drums, but you're talking to your friend who went to see the same band only when he saw them they also had an organ player, You still had the greatness of the original, but adding the organ just changed everything."

"Ok," Mike replied, "I get all that, but why keep it a secret?"

"Because you're going to keep going until you figure out how to see the organ. And when you do finally see the organ player, you'll keep going because no one else has an organ like that––that and the prestige of being on the few that know about the organ. So you can mock the people with their plane-jane cheeseburgers while you're eating you're delicious four-by-four animal style."

* * *

"So," Micky started, with his mouth full, "what's the deal with the boy in the hospital?"

Mike grew silent and he put his hamburger down as his eyes became solemn and distant. "He were a friend, sorta, we used to jam together. He were really talented to, I were so jealous, I hate to admit. But I were. Name any instrument, and there's a good chance that boy could play it. One night, we was jamming real late and smoking a lot of hash, so much that when we was driving home, I didn't see tha other car. We got in a huge wreck, my beautiful Pontiac was in pieces and that kid was lost in the rubble. The doctors say ther's little chance of him waking up. It's all my fault and I came out unscathed."

"And you haven't visited him at all?"

"Of course not, that would just be looking into the face of my mistake."

"Everyone makes mistakes, it––"

"Well, well, well," Micky was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Collins, one of Micky's 'colleagues.' "If it isn't Prince Dolenz."

"Hello, Collins."

"And who's this you have with you? One of your royal subjects?" Collins said snidely.

"The word is 'loyal.' Why would my subjects be 'royal,' that doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, I'm sorry a commoner, such as myself, could not have the same schooling as His Royal Highness Prince Dolenz."

"Why don't you stuff it, Collins? Come on, Man, let's go." Micky and Mike get up and start to leave In-N-Out.

"Seems you're getting stuffed enough by this strapping fellow. What's your name, Sonny?"

"Cut it out, Collins."

"Is thou prince angry?" Micky takes a step toward Collins. "Is thou prince going to punish me?" Micky lifts his arm to take a swing at him but Mike steps in front of him and grabs Collins by the shirt.

"Listen here, Buddy," Mike whispers in Collins ear, his accent the thickest it has ever been, "we don't want no trouble. So you're gonna sit here nice and quiet, like, while me and Micky walk out of here and you are not gonna harass Micky no more. Ya know why?" Collins shook his head, too scared to speak. "Cause you gonna have to answer to from no on. Ya dig?" Collins nodded. "Good," Mike shoved him into a seat, "it was a pleasure meeting you Collins. Come on, Micky." Mike swaggered out of the joint with a startled Micky tagging behind.

* * *

"That was great! I've never seen Collins so scared!" Micky had gotten over his alarm and now was hyped up and wanted to talk about it. "What did you say to him?"

"I just told him he should be more polite." Mike had gotten over it as well and was enjoying seeing Micky so happy. "What was the deal with the name?"

"What do you mean?" Micky asked, less hyped than he was a moment before.

"Why'd he keep calling you a prince? That's not the most popular insult I've heard, and I've heard a lot."

"It's just a mock on my old job?"

"You used to be a prince?"

"No. No. Not exactly. Just...important, I guess."

"Important? You're barely out of diapers, how did you have such an important job?"

"Not exactly important, just...it doesn't matter. I just enjoyed seeing that look on Collin's face!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: sorry this chapter is really short, but I was having writer's block so it was between a short chapter or waiting longer to post. but I only have a few more weeks of classes before winter break and plan on doing lots of writing then. **:-)

* * *

Micky walked into his apartment with the tall Texan in tow, he rushed to the cupboard to retrieve two towels for his friend and himself. They had been window shopping downtown after lunch when it had suddenly and unexpectedly started raining; they quickly rushed to the nearest bus stop and Micky guided Mike to his apartment. Davy, lying on the couch, looked up at the sudden commotion, he smiled at Mike and suggestively raised his eyebrows at him which made Mike very uncomfortable.

"Here's a towel," Micky said as he threw a towel at the increasingly discomforted Texan, "I'm gonna change and afterwards I'll let you borrow some clothes so you can change. 'Kay?"

"OK, sounds good." Mike replied as Davy got up and circled Mike, looking him up and down.

"So, Tex, what's a nice guy like you doing w/ a guy like that?" Davy asked. "Micky's not man enough for you; you need someone who can cater to the needs of such a strapping specimen as yourself." Davy then leaned in close and stood on his tip toes to whisper in Mike's ear, "And I charge a lot less than Micky."

Mike's discomfort had reached it's peak, he sputtered uncontrollably and turned a fascinating shade of red. Lucky for him, Micky had finished dressing and had come out of the room holding some clothes.

"He charges less because he can't handle as much" Davy hadn't seen Micky enter the room and jumped when he heard his voice. "How do you think you could handle him, you're half his size? He'd break you in half." Turning to Mike, "here's some clothes, I hope they fit. You're a bit taller than me but we look to be the same waist size, so they should be good."

"Great! Thanks!" Mike grabbed the clothes and ran into the bedroom, happy to be alleviated from the raunchy Brit and this awkward situation he did not know how to handle.

"Come on, Dude, what was that about?" Micky turned to Davy after Mike had shut himself in the bedroom Micky had just vacated.

"What?" Davy questioned, "I was just joking around with him."  
"I told you about him; he's not...comfortable about this."

"He regularly hires a prostitute and he's not comfortable about it, don't you think that's pretty ridiculous?" Micky was about to respond when Mike came out of the bedroom holding Micky old, beat up guitar and the biggest, brightest smile on his face.

"Who's guitar is this, you play, wow, Ah didn't know ya could play, do ya both play, Ah play guitar, too!" Mike was so excited, his sentences came out as one big word. While he was talking he guided himself towards the couch and sat down while strumming on the guitar.

"That's my guitar," Micky answered the first question with a slight laugh at the Texan's excitement, "it's so old, I got it when I was a little kid. That's right, you mentioned you're in a band. Davy and I have thought of starting a band."

"Ah wouldn't call it a band," Mike continued to fiddle with the guitar as he talked. "We would just jam on occasion. A band? Davy, ya play, too?"

"I sing." Davy replied sheepishly.

"He's also a great percussionist!" Micky said, enthusiastically.

"Well, you know, I hit a tambourine, shake a few maracas, that kind of thing."

"Hey, don't sell yaself short," Mike told him, "percussion can be hard. Hey! Let's jam! Ya got another guitar?"

They jammed for a few hours and they all meshed together perfectly; Mike playing Micky's beat up guitar, Davy on the tambourine and singing and Micky banging on the drums that were nestled in the corner of the room. They played everything from Phil Ochs to The Beatles. If one of them didn't know a song, he would improvise his way to the end; they were so in sync, no one would have been able to tell one did not know the song.

Just as they were about to go into _Cocaine Blues_ when the phone rang. They all stopped playing while Davy ran to the phone.

"Mick, it's for you," he said after answering, "It's The Boss." Micky rolled his eyes in annoyance but went to the phone anyway. After some muffled answers and complaints on Micky's part he solemnly hung up and turned to the guys. "I got a job," he told them as he trudged to the bedroom to get ready.

"So, Tex," Davy turned to Mike, "Where'd you learn to play the guitar?"

"Just something Ah picked up, Ah don't know. Ah got my first guitar when Ah was in high school, it was a gift from mah aunt. And Ah just got really into it. Ya got a great voice, did ya have training?"

"I did, actually. Back when I was acting."

"Oh, you're an actor?"

"Sort of. I started out in England and moved out here and was doing Broadway then came to California to work on the silver screen and, as you can see, that didn't quite work out for me." Mike was about to reply when Micky came out of his room and distracted him to look at Micky. There's was something different about Micky that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Well, I'm off," Micky announced. "You can stay here and hang out with Davy if you want," he said to Mike.

"No," Mike replied, "I should probably get home."

"Ok, well, you should come by again sometime. We could jam again."

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"Bye, Guys." Davy waved to them as they walked out the door and went their opposite ways.

* * *

Mike started Micky on a less professional basis and they would jam often. Finally, after a very good run-through of _Dearest_ Mike decided to ask the guys what he'd been thinking about since they first jammed.

"Do ya guys want to start a band?" The question, though it had been on Mike's mind for weeks, was completely out of the blue for Micky and Davy and they looked at him questioningly. "Ah've been thinking about it for awhile, Ah think we'd make a great band."

"You really want to start a band with a couple of prostitutes?" Micky asked, only half joking.

Mike cringed at the word but replied with, "Ah don't see what tha band members' side jobs have ta do with anything. Besides, I moved out here for tha music and haven't been getting very far on mah own. You guys may just be what Ah need."

Micky and Davy happily agreed and they launched into another song.


End file.
